


Got

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of Pavel’s rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eragon19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/gifts).



> A/N: Drabble for Eragon19 “Pavel is captured and Khan has to rescue him” request.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There are four of them at the end of the corridor, but they rush forward as soon as they see him, crude spears held out and cracking voices too foreign for the universal translator to manage. It doesn’t matter. At this point, Khan isn’t particularly interested in anything they have to say. He doesn’t bother to stick to the shadows, to creep or employ any stealth—he simply meets the surge of cavalry head on, grabbing the nearest spear in one fist. He jerks it out of the alien’s grip and uses it to cleave down the other three—the fight they put up is pathetic. They might’ve bested Khan’s landing party, but to _Khan_ , they’re nothing.

In one spin of the spear and a flurry of perfectly coordinated fists and feet, Khan sends them all flying. The first one he kicked aside struggles to its feet as the final being drops to the floor in a limp mess of too-many purple limbs, and Khan hears the movement before he sees it. He whirls in place and slams his palm into the creature’s bug-like face, jamming its rigid nose up into its skull, and it whines in pain, erupting in green blood that Khan swings back just in time to avoid. It drops like the others, like the many more Khan met at the face of the temple. He’s probably crippled at least thirty of these creatures, and he’s barely sweating. A small rip across his shoulder is the only issue with his otherwise pristine uniform. Only a single strand of dark hair has fallen into his face. His phaser remains clipped at his belt, still unneeded where his raw skills suffice.

He rounds the corner into the underground bunker—a coarsely carved room in the rocky ‘building.’ He takes in the table at one side and holding cells in the back; his readings of the temple’s structure from the ship have proven accurate. Two more guards stand in front of the only occupied cell, looking suddenly over at him in surprise, and Khan decides he’s tired of dirtying his hands. He has his phaser out before they can even point their spears at him, and a second later, they’re both sprawled across the floor.

The small human in the cell straightens immediately, big hazel eyes flickering from shock to relief to delight. Pavel Chekov hops off the makeshift bench cut into the wall and practically flies across the room, landing abruptly in Khan’s arms. 

Khan, safe in the knowledge that they’re alone, allows a brief hug. He even places a strong arm around Pavel’s thin waist, pulling Pavel tightly against him, acknowledging quietly, “I’m here.”

“I knew you would sawe me,” Pavel murmurs happily, arms wrapped securely around Khan’s broad shoulders. His clothes are ripped in several places, and he’s bruised, but he’s alive and appears, for the most part, well. But then he pulls back to report, pretty lips falling into a frown, “Zhe ozhers... zhey were not so lucky.”

Khan nods. Life scan readings told him as much. He hates to lose any member of his crew, but the rest of the landing party was all new redshirts: not those that came with him through the centuries. And not the one he met here, that he’s stolen from another ship and kept safe with him. He announces dryly, “You won’t be attending landing parties without me or one of my original crew anymore.”

Pavel opens his mouth as if to protest, but instead he stumbles, grabbing suddenly at Khan’s shirt. He tears the cut near the shoulder wider by accident and mumbles, “I am sorry,” as he sinks down. 

Khan grabs him easy and straightens him, though he falters, leaning heavily against Khan’s chest and turning a faint pink. Khan examines him more thoroughly and finds the open gash over his knee crusted in blood, though Pavel insists, “I am fine.”

Khan ignores it. Pavel’s too enthusiastic, eager, works too hard for what he is—a vulnerable human that should never be locked in alien jails. Khan bends down and scoops him up easily, one hand supporting his back and the other his legs, while Pavel squeaks and grabs onto Khan’s neck again. Khan hoists him up, adjusting the position, easily managing his negligible weight. He opens his mouth again, probably to repeat an apology, but Khan gives him a stern look that forces him to close it. Instead, he holds on and nuzzles into Khan’s shoulder, murmuring, “Zhank you.”

Khan replies idly, “No one messes with my crew.” And he promptly carries Pavel back out to the corridor, silently debating, once they get back to the _Vengeance_ , of course, whether or not to blow up the whole damn city.


End file.
